


In the Morning Light

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Case, Eventual Smut, Frottage, M/M, Mild Angst, Misunderstandings, Morning After, What Happened?, drunk!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets drunk and kisses Sherlock. This is what happens afterward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Will you remember in the morning?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/895789) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Posted with permission, this piece was inspired by Will You Remember in the Morning by ShellyBee and while it can stand alone, this piece will make the most sense if you read her piece first.
> 
> A million thanks to my beta mistesskikishiphassailed for sitting up with me late at night, making amazing suggestions and just generally being awesome!

John had been drunk when he kissed Sherlock. Absolutely pissed in fact. By the time Sherlock had dragged him away from the Yard’s New Year’s Party and back to the flat, he knew what he had to do.

Much as it pained him. Sherlock gave him water and paracetamol and helped him up to his own room.  

It was fiercely tempting to do more. John clearly would have been enthusiastic about the idea, in the moment. He had initiated their kisses, after all, and kept trying for more. In fact, it was a wonder Sherlock had managed to keep his trousers on. Out on the balcony, John’s hands continually migrated to the zip. Their first kiss had drawn nearly every eye in the room. Sherlock had led John outside, ostensibly for a bit of air, but mostly for privacy.

John had immediately pulled him into another kiss, all tongues and an occasional playful nip of teeth. He indulged for a while, the sloppy kisses somehow perfect. Uncoordinated as they were, it was a marvel to feel the press and slide of lips and tongues. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, if this was how well John kissed, even as intoxicated as he was, what would he be like in better control? The thought that he would likely never get to find out, made his chest tighten and Sherlock had pulled back at last.

“Let’s go home, John,” he whispered against the shell of his flatmate's ear, deliberately allowing his voice to roughen with desire. He knew John would follow that lead. He might be disappointed tonight, but it was imperative that they stop groping each other in front of half the Yard, especially knowing John might regret the actions, and the audience, in the morning. They made their goodbyes quickly and hailed a cab. Lestrade had walked them out waving them off with a hearty, “Happy New Year! Goodnight!” as the cab pulled away.

The taxi home had been a bit of a trial, John, looking rather green. Luckily, they made it home without incident. It had made putting him to bed easier, since John was feeling decidedly less amorous.

He was loudly apologetic for not being up for more.

"It is perfectly alright, John,” Sherlock assured him, helping him out of shoes and shirt and trousers. He left the pants and vest on, which would have to do for night clothes.

"Just rest now. There will be plenty of time for everything when you are feeling better.” Sherlock reassured him gently as he tucked him into bed, knowing full well that there might not be another time. He wondered disconcertingly who he was really trying to comfort.

Sherlock lay down on top of the covers, stroking John’s hair. He had slept recently enough that he knew he wouldn’t tonight. Not when there was John to contemplate. Loyal, steadfast John, who had sworn time and again that he was straight. John, whose kisses he could still feel on his lips. Who, on the balcony had whispered again and again, how brilliant and important and amazing Sherlock was, his words slurred, but heartfelt.

Would John remember any of it in the morning? Sherlock wasn’t sure and if he did, what would he make of it?  

If this was all there was, Sherlock would manage. Sex wasn’t exactly necessary. It was messy and complicated and… He took a breath. Justifying exactly how much he didn’t need this was ridiculous. He could console himself with whatever facts he needed, but perhaps the floodgates were open. Speculation without facts would only lead to error.

He leaned over and kissed John one more time, filing away the soft warmth of his lips in case the opportunity didn’t arise again.

John’s voice was quite low, but audible even slurred as it was. “Love you, Sherlock,” he whispered as he fell asleep.  

An hour later, Sherlock lay beside John, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, and whispered back, “I love you, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

He squinted towards his bedside table. It was half 10 already. He sat up, a bit shakily, noting the glass of water with two more paracetamol laid out within reach. His stomach lurched slightly as he took the pills, but calmed as he took a few breaths and carefully drank half the water. His head wasn’t as bad as it should have been.

 

Of course. The water Sherlock gave him last night, would have helped to avert the dehydration.

 

Sherlock. Last night.

 

Oh, Christ!

\---

 

Sherlock reclined on the couch, hands steepled in his typical thinking pose. His eyes closed as they were now, it looked almost like prayer.

 

 _Yes, praying that his drunk bastard of a flatmate will piss off_ , John thought

 

“Morning, John.” Sherlock didn’t sound upset. Wary? Perhaps.

 

John hummed a sort of greeting, not really feeling verbal yet as he put the kettle on. Morning, John. That was what he got? He could hear Sherlock’s voice in his head saying ever more ridiculous things. _Interesting party, John. Thank you so much for trying to snog my face off. How kind you were to avoid being sick on me as you tried to drunkenly drag me into your bed._

 

‘Morning, John’ seemed more pleasant certainly and perhaps preferable, but were they really just going to go on as if last night hadn’t happened? He felt a peculiar tightness in his chest as he began to wonder, did Sherlock delete it? Bloody Hell, if he was dragging himself over the coals for something Sherlock didn’t even deign to keep in his damn mind palace...

 

By the time he was finished making tea and toast, apparently on autopilot, he was suddenly aware that Sherlock was talking. “...looked at the video you took. Donovan’s rendition of I Will Survive was truly something to behold, and that shines through, even if you can’t hear much of the audio.”

 

John managed,“Oh?” as he looked up at Sherlock and when their eyes met, he knew Sherlock hadn’t deleted a thing. Now if only John was a little less hazy on what exactly had happened...  

 

He was quite clear that he had kissed Sherlock and knew he had been dragged out onto the balcony. Fuck. If Donovan or Anderson saw them, he’d never hear the end of it!

 

After that things got significantly fuzzier but he tried to reason through the fog. What was the last thing he remembered? Sherlock’s body warm and steady pressed against him, undressing him and then, what? If he was so drunk when he finally made his move that he couldn’t remember their first time... He tried to remember to breathe. Logically, he would have been too knackered to get out of bed and put his pants and vest back on, so it stood to reason that he hadn’t even gotten them off. _So no sex, then._ How did that thought make him simultaneously relieved, disappointed, and ill. In fact, the longer he was awake, the more he felt as though he might be sick, likely in equal measure from the hangover and nerves. He took a few small bites of blessedly dry toast before opening, “So, Sherlock, about last night,” just as Sherlock’s phone beeped.

 

**If I’m not interrupting anything, could use help. -GL**


	3. Chapter 3

Of course they went, Sherlock out of the flat, simultaneous texting Lestrade and hailing a cab by the time John joined him on the pavement.

 

He relayed the address to the cabbie and they were off. It wasn’t too far away. They could have walked, but John was grateful that they didn’t. He just desperately wished he had time to finish his toast, as his stomach roiled.

 

They were greeted by a bleary eyed officer, who escorted them up the stairs and into the flat of one Juliet Whitcomb, explaining on the way.  

 

“She was found about an hour ago. A friend was picking her up for a girl’s day out.” As they walked in, they could see the friend in question, draped in an orange blanket and sitting with an officer, clearly trying to calm her sobs enough to give him the necessary answers.

 

Lestrade walked over to them. Looking from one to the other. “Wasn’t sure you’d be up for it today, but I’m glad you could make it. The window by the fire escape was smashed. Would have guessed break in gone bad, but it doesn’t look like anything was taken.”

 

“Not enough glass.” Sherlock murmured as he walked over to consider the floor and the window, carefully poking his head outside. “Considering that most of the glass is on the pavement below, it was knocked out from within rather than used as a point of entry. It was clearly done by some imbecile trying to throw you off. It’s working, too.”

 

Sherlock took a quick look at the body. Her clothes were not significantly mussed, and clean, aside from a few grey cat hairs. There was nothing particularly remarkable about her choice of pale blue blouse and navy pencil skirt, both of which were in good repair and not significantly above or below the price range it looked like she could afford, judging by this flat. Her earrings looked to be slightly more expensive than a woman who doesn’t bother to have her nails done would choose. There was obvious wear on her left ring finger, slight indent, skin shiny. Likely a wedding or engagement ring, then. Flat set up for one.  Single bowl visible on the counter where she was preparing dinner, one chair slightly out from the table, likely engagement. Ah, the out of place earrings could easily be a gift, from her fiancé, so they were likely irrelevant. Scratches on her arms, could be defensive wounds, but as he looked closer, it appeared she suffered from mild eczema. Likely scratched herself, then. Again irrelevant.

 

Something glimmered in the light and he took the magnifying glass out from his pocket for closer inspection. Ah, two tiny fragments of glass clung to the elbow of her sweater. They were small enough it was little wonder they had been overlooked. Small cut on the top of her foot. She knocked the glass out herself. _Why? And what did it have to do with her death?_

 

“John, how do you think she died?” John bent down to examine her, lifted an eyelid, checked her neck for any marks, indicating nothing of significance. Pressing here and there, John sat back and said, “Laryngeal edema."  Her throat was swollen?  “Autopsy should reveal more, but I would say it is likely she had anaphylaxis.”

 

Sherlock looked closer at what he had previously ruled eczema.  There _was_ eczema, but as he squinted at it, he thought that there could be another rash with it.

 

As they worked, Lestrade eyed the two of them hopefully, but had the good grace not to pry. “I noticed grey cat hairs on her clothes, but she doesn’t have a pet. The murderer’s, perhaps?”

 

“Good. Irrelevant in this case, but you are picking up more details.” Sherlock remarked, feeling especially generous.

 

John went to question the friend and the other officers while Sherlock surveyed the scene. Donovan and Anderson were nowhere to be seen at the moment, but had been, if anything, less irritating than usual. _What are they up to?_ Sherlock wondered briefly.  Well, time enough to deduce that later, he thought to himself as he looked around the flat.

 

Framed in the bedroom, there was a picture where the victim was not only wearing, but clearly showing off the lovely round cut diamond solitaire in a gold band. Their body language suggested genuine happiness, and familiarity with those in picture indicated that they were the fiancé and best friend, the girl they saw upon entering the flat. He rushed over to her, brandishing the picture. “Where is her ring?” Sherlock demanded. The friend told them that she had just dropped it off to the jeweler. They had found a shop they liked better than the one her engagement ring had come from, but they wanted the wedding ring to fit with it.

 

“Aha!” he shouted and handed the picture to Lestrade, striding instead across the room to her desk.  He found what he was looking for, her day planner, where he found the card for her jeweler and was off on a chase before anyone could stop him.

 

“Hey, that’s evidence, you can’t just walk off with that,” Lestrade shouted. Sherlock was sure John, would offer apologies and come after him.

 

Luckily, the shop was just a few blocks down.

 

Sherlock reached the jeweler and immediately inquired about the couple that had the 5:00 appointment on the previous evening. The responses told him virtually nothing that he didn’t already know. Sherlock looked up to find John at his elbow.  He leaned his right forearm on the counter, but immediately straightened up, brushing at his arm. 

 

“Oh, I am terribly sorry. My new assistant keeps polishing the pieces here.”

 

Sherlock grabbed John’s arm. “Oh, that’s it. You’re absolutely brilliant!” He was already texting Lestrade as he exited the building. He smiled to himself as he heard John, “Um, thank you for your time.  He’s always like this.”

 

“What was that, then?” John asked as they reached the pavement.

 

“Well, there was no robbery.”

 

“Yes, I got that at the flat.” John interrupted, sounding a bit put out, before adding, “I do keep up sometimes.”

 

“No murder either.  Accidental death.  Clearly, she had a reaction to the jeweler’s rouge, the polishing agent on the counter there.”

 

“Alright, but generally anaphylaxis is rather immediate.”

 

“Well, it wasn’t absorbed until she broke the skin with scratching the eczema I’m sure you noted. Then as she was tasting the stew she was preparing, it came in contact with her mouth and that was the end of that.  In her convulsions, she broke the window. In any event, now that’s done. You missed breakfast this morning. Hungry?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Starved,” John said, his stomach growling slightly, as though on cue.

 

“Shall we, then?”


	4. Chapter 4

They were quiet on the way to lunch, Sherlock lost somewhere between last night and the drop that frequently came after solving a case so quickly.

 

Angelo greeted them with an effusiveness John had grown accustomed to. As they were sitting down, John’s phone beeped it’s email alert. **Won’t happen again. Deleting now.** Was all the message said, but there was the video. John stared at the file for a moment, before slipping the phone back in his pocket.

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“I’ll explain in a minute. Can we order first? I really am starving.”

 

They ordered, the carbonara for John, fettuccini alfredo for Sherlock, both opting for water rather than wine today.

 

Then John excused himself to the loo, though he was mostly interested in some privacy. He took out the phone and watched all 3 minutes and 24 seconds of the video clip of snogging on the balcony. Terrible quality. The lighting was fairly dim and it was clearly filmed through a window judging by the occasional odd glare, but nonetheless, it was perfectly clear that Sherlock was kissing him back.  In fact, the only resistance at all was when he went for Sherlock’s trousers. As he watched it, he remembered the moment more clearly. Though you couldn’t tell from the video, thank God, he had distinctly felt Sherlock grow hard against him while they kissed. Watching himself paw at his friend’s pants, before Sherlock efficiently moved his hands away, he was aware of how much he had wanted more, but now things were coming back, it was clear that Sherlock had as well. He smiled to himself as he tucked the phone away.

 

When he returned to the table, the food was just arriving. As they both tucked in, John stared.

 

“You are actually eating today?” he inquired, almost in awe.

 

Sherlock’s lips quirked. “Isn’t that what one does on a date, John?”

 

John’s eyes widened. “So this is a date? We are, you and I, actually on a date, then?”

 

“All day you have been on edge. It seemed like you might regret last night. But you’ve relaxed. You are sitting closer to me than strictly necessary and you are looking at my lips again, which is pleasant and a bit relieving, since you spent all morning avoiding looking at me in general and my lips in particular. So, it seems like something has settled in for you. I haven’t been able to deduce what so far, though I’d wager it has something to do with the email you received. So, yes, I was hoping you might be amenable to this being, in fact, a date.”

 

“Brilliant. Yes, all of that,” John laughed and asked, “Would you like me to explain what the email has to do with anything, or are you still having fun trying to deduce it?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I’d get there eventually, but go on.”

 

John relayed between bites, how while Sherlock was searching the flat, he overheard Officer Wiggins sharing a video with a few officers. “Oh, I don’t want to see that!” Anderson had winced in disgust. A few were having a laugh and good naturedly settling scores from apparent bets as John walked up behind them, getting a clear view of Wiggins’ phone display playing Sherlock and himself snogging on the balcony. No one had seen him yet as Donovan said, quietly but firmly,  “Don’t go passing that around.  He may be a freak, but would you want a private moment of yours all over the place?” She and Anderson exchanged a significant look.

 

“So I said, ‘Oh, by all means, send me a copy first.Then delete it.’ They jumped and scrambled. You should have seen their faces! And I might have gone on to quietly suggest to Wiggins that you could send his wife footage of one of his trysts, since he isn’t exactly careful and you do have access the CCTV footage.” They chuckled over that. They both knew he could, since Sherlock had stumbled across exactly that a few weeks ago.

 

“When I saw the video, the whole of it, I knew I hadn’t taken advantage of you. I was a bit hazy on a few things,” he admitted, “And then we hadn’t really talked yet, so I...” he trailed off.

 

“Didn’t know how I felt. Of course. Obvious. You thought I was upset, which is why I wasn’t talking. I just thought... well drunken indiscretions are sometimes better forgotten. But, you don’t regret it.” Definitely more statement than question, despite the slight up tilt to his tone.

 

“Well, perhaps I regret that it took that many drinks to begin, or the setting, “ he chuckled at himself.

 

“I was surprised that Donovan actually stood up for us, though.”

 

“She has her moments, ” Sherlock smiled.

 

“Oh, which reminds me,” John sighed as he pulled out his phone. “I can play nice, too” he mumbled as he confirmed that, yes, in fact, he did want to delete this video. He might regret letting the terrible karaoke go later, but for the moment, John had had quite enough of incriminating videos.

 

“Let’s go home.” Sherlock said, and in a flash like deja vu, John knew that he had heard that before and his brows furrowed slightly.

 

Sherlock smiled ruefully as he took in John’s doubt. “Last night you were exceptionally drunk.  Yes, I lured you away falsely,  but I was rather intent on continuing to stay dressed whilst in public, which you were making rather difficult.” John blushed to the roots of his hair at that, thinking of the video.

 

Sherlock leaned in and whispered in John’s ear, “And I am rather interested in finding out exactly what you are capable of in private, now that you are in possession of all your faculties.”

 

They could hardly pay the check fast enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the explicit smut, so If you would rather be content that they had a lovely date, you might want to skip this. 
> 
> On the other hand, if you've been waiting for the smut, enjoy!

In a final show of restraint, they did in fact, pay the check and take a taxi home with a modicum of decorum. They even made it up the stairs and just inside the flat before they fell into one another’s arms. As the door clicked closed behind them, John cupped Sherlock’s jaw and brought him down for a kiss, which was slower, less frantic than last night, and Sherlock was right. John was even better sober.

 

By the time they had shed coats and shoes and landed on the couch, the need to kiss and lick and touch was too overwhelming and Sherlock had pulled John down, still rather fully clothed, to straddle his lap and began kissing his neck.

 

John rocked his hips slightly as his lips found Sherlock’s again. He unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt and ran his hands over his chest, tracing his nipples, which earned him a startled grunt of pleasure and he felt Sherlock’s cock begin thicken against his thigh. He broke off kissing, bending down to flick the sensitive flesh with his tongue. Sherlock shuddered beneath him as he switched to the other nipple.

 

“Oh, John,” Sherlock moaned. God, that voice, seemed to resonate through him, all the way to his cock.

 

They shifted at the same time, aligning their pricks and began to find a rhythm, slowly rocking and bucking together, the friction as delicious as it was maddening. If this was amazing, what would it be like skin to skin? The thought alone and he was nearly undone. John leaned back and remembered to breathe. He nearly laughed as he realized that, like a teenager he might need to recall mundane things like maths formulas to hold off. As Sherlock grabbed his hips and bucked up against him again, he was sure of it.

 

He kissed Sherlock again and eased himself up off the couch, sliding his own pants and trousers off. He sank to his knees and undid the zip of Sherlock’s trousers as well, and trailed his fingers lightly over the bulge in his pants. Sherlock arched up, trying to increase friction. John dipped his head down to mouth Sherlock through the taut fabric. His responding moan was delightful and as Sherlock rutted against his lips, John could hardly wait to hear how Sherlock responded to truly feeling the wet heat of his mouth with nothing in the way. He hooked his thumbs under the band of Sherlock’s pants, tugging them down. Sherlock lifted his hips, helping until John could drag his pants and trousers off.  He paused for a moment, just taking in the sight of his friend’s naked cock for the first time. Sherlock smiled down at him through smouldering, half-lidded eyes.

 

“You are so beautiful like this,” John breathed as he slid the foreskin back, marveling at the feel of silky skin over rigid hardness. Though it wasn’t the first time, it had been so long since he had any cock other than his own in hand. He gave him a few languid pulls as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He leaned forward, swirling his tongue around the flushed head, sucking lightly, as he palmed his own prick. Sherlock bucked his hips up, as John, at last, took him in, sliding up and down slowly, lingering in the sensations. He dipped a little deeper each time, until he could feel the head pressing against the back of his throat. Sherlock threw his head back against the couch and murmured incoherently in pleasure as John worked him over, noting the particular spot along the shaft, just below the head where he moaned every time John applied firmer pressure.

 

When John lightly cupped his balls and stroked his fingers back against the perineum, Sherlock’s response was electric. Releasing his lover’s cock, John grabbed Sherlock’s hips, pulling him right to the edge of the couch and licked a stripe from perineum to balls, running his tongue over them before gently sucking one then the other into his mouth as he stroked his hand up and down the stiff length of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock positively growled.

 

“John!”, Sherlock cried out at last, pressing a hand firmly against his shoulder, stopping him. “Too much. I can’t... Not ready to...” he managed, clearly beyond coherent speech. It was glorious.

 

John sat back on his heels, looking up at this mad, gorgeous man who was positively debauched, shirt still hanging from his shoulders, hair mussed.  His lips were pink and swollen from biting them in some marginal effort to keep from disturbing the neighbors.  

 

Sherlock took a steadying breath and looked into John’s eyes. “Come back up here. I want to feel you against me,” his tone pleading.

 

John stood up and leaned down to kiss him, whispering, “I’ll be right back.” Sherlock looked up at him in confusion when John started to walk away, and grabbed his hand. “I promise, this will be worth it,” John laughed, easing the hand away from his. He ran up the stairs, returning with a small tube of lubricant. Pouring a generous amount in his hand, he straddled Sherlock once more and slicked his hand down Sherlock’s cock and then his own. His eyes widened in surprise at how much better that felt, John’s slick hand working over them.

 

Sherlock’s breath ragged, he pulled John’s shirt over his head so they were finally both naked. He pressed his lips to John’s shoulder as he twined their fingers together around their shafts and began to move, shifting hips and hands. They each moaned as they found the perfect rhythm, pressing the slick, hot flesh of their cocks together. Sherlock came first, spilling over their hands and his stomach. Feeling him throb and pulse against him was too much and John drew Sherlock into a passionate kiss, moaning into his mouth as he shuddered against him.

 

His eyes fluttered open as Sherlock lifted their entwined hands licked tentatively, then sucked John’s fingers into his mouth. God, he looked like sin itself lapping up their mingled come as though he could think of nothing more delectable. If he was a younger man, John swore he would be hard again already just from watching that alone, never mind the feeling of that deft tongue undulating against his fingers.

 

Eventually the shower would sound like a good plan, but for the moment, they relaxed back against the soft couch feeling blissfully shagged out.

 

“So, why have we never done this before?” John said, smiling against Sherlock’s shoulder.

 

“Clearly we are both idiots.”


End file.
